


Cause for Empathy

by wilddragonflying



Series: Roleplays [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Dean gets a vagina, Fluff, Implied pregnancy sex, M/M, Mpreg, and a baby, and a uterus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 14:05:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/953984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wilddragonflying/pseuds/wilddragonflying
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean insults a child in front of a Fae. Bad move; the Fae love children. </p><p>So the Fae decides to teach Dean just why children are so precious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cause for Empathy

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, this is seriously the crackiest thing that impalagirl & I have written yet. It was my idea, I wanted Dean to get hit w/ a uterus, and then get knocked up, w/ lots of domesticity & fluff.

"Giant termites, huh? Never woulda guessed..."

Sam shook his head, amused, as he and Dean walked away from the house they'd just rid of a pretty nasty poltergeist. Bastard had been stuck in the walls, and it had taken surprisingly little to convince the family who lived there that their troubles had been due to a perfectly natural kind of infestation. Both Winchesters were sore and exhausted, and Sam was hoping that they could just drive back to their current motel and crash for a few days—but in order to do that, they had to get into their car.

A small group of kids, probably between the ages of ten and thirteen, had gathered around Dean's beloved Impala. One was kicking the back wheel in a thoughtful kind of way. Together Sam and Dean slowed down as they approached, hoping to catch what they were saying.

"What the fuck is this?" one of them cursed, making Sam wince. He'd picked up that kind of language from Dean at that age, who had picked it up from Dad, who was often too drunk to censor himself, but what was this kid's excuse?

Another of the kids laughed cruelly. "It's a _classic_ ," he drawled, his tone dripping with disdain. "In other words, it's a rust bucket that shouldn't even be on the road. My dad says that the people who drive these things are just as past it as the cars."

Dean had been willing to forgive the kids for kicking his baby's wheels—they hadn't been kicking that hard. But _insulting_ his baby? _Hell_ no. Dean stalked over to the car, stopping behind the kid who'd last spoken and crossing his arms, looming until the boy noticed him. "That's my car you're insulting, buck-o. And I'm pretty sure it's more intelligent than you are."

All of the kids besides the one Dean had cornered scarpered, abandoning their friend to face the wrath of the older Winchester alone. The boy who remained had gone very pale. "I—I'm sorry, mister, I didn't mean—it's a beautiful car, really. A beauty. I—uhh..." 

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Sam laid a hand on his shoulder. "It's okay," Sam advised, trying not to laugh. "You can get out of here." He could only grin at Dean's outraged expression as the kid immediately took off after his friends.

" _Sammy_ ," Dean complained, punching his younger brother in the shoulder. "Ya should've let me teach him a lesson." He frowned at Sam again before tossing him a grin and walking around to the driver's side door. "C'mon, let's get out of this neighborhood and away from those pesky little bastards."

Sam grinned back as he got into the car. Like Dean, he was more than ready to get away from this place and into a semi-decent bed. Maybe for a week. "Hey, did you—" Sam cut himself off. He thought he'd seen something—a strange shimmer in the air between them—but suddenly he wasn't so sure. Tired eyes played tricks, after all. "Never mind. Let's go."

Dean grimaced at the sudden stomach cramp—but it was gone as quickly as it had come. "Sure," he said, tossing a confident grin at Sam. "I feel like going to a bar, after we get cleaned up a bit. You in?" He had a desperate desire to get laid.

Sam snorted. "Nah man, I'm good. I just wanna crash. You'll have more fun without me there anyway."

Dean grinned cockily. "More girls for me," he said, shrugging happily. 

***

Dean eyed everyone in the bar, feeling a bit... loose. And fuzzy-brained. 

And when one guy gave him a  _particular_ look, he felt wet.

Like... between the legs.

 _Hmm,_ Dean mulled. _That's weird._ The guy still hadn't stopped looking at him, and Dean quirked his eyebrow in blatant invitation. The other man sidled up right next to Dean at the bar, and Dean smiled.

"Not looking for anything in particular, are you?" the man asked, a gleam in his eyes that reminded Dean of Sam when he got caught up in his research.

"Looking for a quick fuck," Dean said casually, downing the rest of his beer. He felt... He felt a lot more drunk than he should be, considering this was only his second beer.

The guy leered at him, but it didn't detract from his attractiveness. "Same here. Follow me."

Dean grinned and followed him out around back, into the alley. Cliche, but right now, the throbbing between his legs—throbbing _s_ , actually, which was a little odd—was running the show.

There was little ceremony to it, but when the guy's hand drifted behind Dean's balls and found something he clearly wasn't expecting, Dean said the first thing that came to his mind: "I'm a hermaphrodite; that a problem?"

The guy just grinned and shook his head. "Pussy or ass?" he asked, undoing the zipper on his own pants and pulling out his cock.

Dean turned around and pushed his pants down, spreading his legs a bit and tilting his ass. "Fuck me like a woman."

***

Sam woke to the sound of retching, and he had to laugh. Apparently Dean's alcohol tolerance was lessening in his old age. A few moments later, the sound of the toilet flushing heralded Dean's entrance into the room, looking pale and shaky. Sam just grinned. "Hey there, sunshine. Enjoying the hangover?"

Dean made his way over to the bed on shaky legs. "No, no I'm not 'enjoying the hangover,'" he snapped. "There is no hangover to enjoy—I only had two beers last night. I was in there puking my guts because I realized that the guy who fucked me last night didn't fuck me up the ass. He fucked me in the _cunt_ after I told him I was a fucking _hermaphrodite,_ even though _I am not supposed to have a goddamned vagina!_ " The words echoed around the room, and Dean wished like hell he could just tell Sammy that he was joking—but he couldn't. Because he wasn't. Dean Winchester had a vagina. And it had been fucked the night before.  
Sam stared. And then he stared some more. Eventually he found his tongue, but the words that came out were strained with shock and disbelief. "You—you have a _what_?"

"I. Have. A. Fucking. Vagina," Dean repeated through gritted teeth. "That I used to have sex with a guy last night."

Sam was finding this information very difficult to process. "You didn't think that was weird at the time?" he demanded. "You went out to get fucked and discovered that you don't have a dick anymore? And since when do you sleep with guys?"

Dean glared at Sam. "I told him I was a _hermaphrodite_ , dipshit. I've still got a dick. I've slept with guys—only a few, but still—before, since I was sixteen, and no, I didn't think it was weird at the time or do you think I would have let _anyone's_ dick near it?" he snarled.

"Okay, okay." Sam held up his hands. "Don't get mad at me because _you_ have a pussy. It must be a curse or something. We'll fix it. You _let guys fuck you?_ "

Dean shot Sam an odd look. Why was he stuck on that? "It's called being bisexual, Sherlock. And I happen to like bottoming."

"As for the other thing," an amused voice said from the doorway. Dean jumped up and grabbed his gun, but the creature—looked human, only no human was that... _ethereal_ —flicked its wrist, and the gun shot out of Dean's hand. "It could be seen as a curse—or a blessing."

"What do you want?" Sam demanded, reaching for the knife he kept beneath his pillow. As unexpected and unwelcome as this intrusion was, Sam was grateful for it. He'd been hopelessly stuck on the fact that Dean apparently had sex with guys—and it wouldn't have taken much for Dean to find out why. Hopefully this would provide a big enough distraction that Dean would forget to ask. 

The creature raised one eyebrow. "I am a Fae. Your... _brother_ displeased me yesterday." Ignoring Sam, it turned to Dean. "Children are precious things; a lesson you have forgotten. You would do well to remember it."

Dean's mind scrambled, and unfortunately his brain-to-mouth filter seemed to be leaking, because what came out was: "But I can't have children."

A malicious grin twisted the Fae's features. "Now you can, and will." Then it was gone.

Sam was back to staring again. "Are you... Are you _pregnant_?!"

Dean was still staring at the space where the creature—Fae—had been. "Apparently?" he offered weakly. _Holy fucking_ shit _please dear God let this be a hangover-induced hallucination,_ Dean prayed silently.

"Dean..." Sam got out of bed and approached his brother slowly, a look of shock and fear and awe on his face as he stretched out a hand and laid his palm flat against Dean's stomach. "You're pregnant."

Dean jerked back from the touch, his face paling as he stared at Sam, his mouth hanging open. Jesus Christ, this _was not a dream_. Dean was pregnant. He was pregnant. With child. He'd conceived.

From a one night stand.

That fact hit him like a ton of bricks. "Oh God," he whimpered, shooting to his feet and hauling ass for the bathroom. There wasn't anything left to leave his stomach, but it kept trying anyway. Tears were leaking from the corners of his eyes—he was _pregnant_ , and if that wasn't enough on its own, the child was supposed to be a _lesson_ , one Dean would have to live with for the rest of his and the child's lives, and the father—sperm donor—was a guy whose name _Dean hadn't even known._

Sam was close on Dean's heels, sinking to his knees beside him as he retched into the toilet. "It's okay," he mumbled numbly, rubbing awkwardly at Dean's back. "Dean, we're gonna work this out. It'll be okay."

Dean flapped a hand ineffectively at Sam. "Fuck off, Sasquatch," he managed to wheeze before he stomach seized again. For once, though, he was grateful for Sam not listening to him; Sam stayed right where he was, rubbing small patterns between Dean's shoulder blades.

When his stomach was done with its second fit, he collapsed against the side of the toilet, burying his face in one arm, squeezing his eyelids shut. "Jesus. Just—how is this—Sammy, I can't raise a kid," he whispered, his voice thick.

"Yes you can," Sam answered around the lump in his throat. "Don't worry about that. You're going to be an amazing father."

Dean laughed weakly. "No, Sam, the whole reason I'm _in_ this mess is because I'd be a horrible father. Pretty sure that Fae saw the show beside the Impala yesterday." He shook his head slowly, trying to process everything. He had a vagina—and obviously a uterus to go with it. Last night, he hadn't thought it was weird; probably because of something else the Fae had done. He didn't know the name of the man who'd sired his kid. He was thirty-four, a hunter with seventy-eight bucks to his name, a brother still trying to heal from the hell that was their life, an old bunker full of supernatural shit, and an old car—

Wait.

The bunker.

“Wonder if this has happened before,” he mumbled. "Maybe," Sam said, frowning. He was still stuck on the whole 'horrible father' thing. "Dean, I don't think the Fae had a clue. Sure, you're not a fan of kids, but you care about the ones close to you. Hell, you raised me when you were just a kid yourself—and even if you think you did a crappy job, at least you know what not to do this time."

Dean shrugged half-heartedly. "Since I doubt a magically-induced pregnancy is gonna miscarry, there's nothing I can do about it," he said shortly. "I'll just have to hope I don't screw it up." There was silence in the bathroom for a few more moments, and then Dean said, "We should probably head back to the bunker soon."

Sam stood up. Magical, impossible, unexpected pregnancy or not, he couldn't believe Dean had just wished death on his own child. "Yeah, okay," Sam mumbled, leaving the room. "I guess I can research magical abortions or something."

Dean watched Sam leave, confused, and then realized what he'd just said. He smacked his head against the porcelain, growling at himself. Christ, he was a moron. He waited another few minutes before he followed Sam, moving to start packing. "I didn't mean it like that," he said quietly after several moments of tense, awkward silence. "I never thought something like this could happen—much less that it could happen to me. I just... I don't even know, Sam. I never thought I'd have kids, and now I'm going to be giving _birth_ in nine months. And I don't—I don't want to bring a kid into a life like ours."

Sam frowned in sympathy; he wouldn't want that either. "You don't have to. We could get out, Dean. When the baby's older, I'm sure we could get back into it if that's what you want, but for now... We have a home, and everything else we need. Why don't we just take a breather while we bring your kid into the world?"

Dean's head snapped up so he could stare at Sam. "'We'?" he echoed incredulously.

Sam recoiled, and was quick to turn his back on Dean so that he wouldn't see the devastation on his face. "Or you," he mumbled, stuffing clothes into his bag. "I don't have to be involved." Of course Dean wouldn't want him to be involved. If he hadn't trusted Sam to take care of him when he was so sex-crazed that he was willing to sit on some random guy's dick without even questioning it—if he hadn't trusted Sam to _father his child_ —then he wasn't going to trust him to be near it.

This train of thought was likely highly illogical, but Sam didn't care. He'd been in love with his brother for years, and he knew that Dean wasn't the kind to get hung up on the social taboo side of things. If Dean had kept his distance from Sam, especially last night when literally every other bet was off, it was because of Sam the person— _Sam the fuck up_ —not Sam the brother.

Dean kept staring at Sam. Why would he—why would Sam _want_ to be involved with this, with Dean and his kid—Sam's nephew or niece? That was probably why, though. This kid was related to Sam. Sam had always been huge on family—unless it meant actually looking for said family after it got blasted into Purgatory.

Dean swallowed down whatever was blocking his throat. "Of course you can be involved," he muttered. "Not like I'mma kick you out of the BatCave or anything." He'd long ago figured out it was best if he ignored the fact that he didn't want anyone as much as he wanted Sam, and just took what he could get from his younger sibling, fucking every willing guy or girl he could pick up in bars along the way to help him keep himself under control.

Sam just shrugged, but how grateful he felt was clearly audible in his voice when he spoke again. "Thank you. I'd like to be there... for you, and the baby." He laughed. "I promise I won't corrupt your kid."

"Corrupt my—" Now Dean was back to staring at Sam in shock. Sam thought that just being around would _corrupt_ Dean's child? "What—You know what? I'm not dealing with this now." He took a deep breath. "One fucking thing at a time, man. And right now, my priority is that in nine months, a baby is gonna pop out of the oven that was magically implanted in me. So we need to get back to the bunker and start researching."

Sam turned back to Dean, his eyes wide. "I wasn't being serious," he lied, but he supposed that it didn't matter. The fact that Dean had taken him seriously said it all. He was scared that Sam _would_ corrupt his child. "Whatever, come on. We need to get on the road. You gonna let me drive?"

Dean eyed Sam, snorting. "Like hell, gigantor. You ain't gettin' your giant paws anywhere _near_ my baby." Dean slung his duffel over his shoulder, grabbed his other bag, and headed for the door. "I'll check us out; meet me at the car."

Sam let out a slow breath, watching Dean go with tired eyes. He needed to pull himself together if he was going to help Dean through this. 

When Dean came out of the office, Sam was hovering by the driver's side of the Impala, grinning hopefully at his brother. "You're supposed to take it easy when you're pregnant," he teased. "Hand the keys over, dude."

"Not until I'm too big to fit behind the wheel," Dean retorted, hip checking Sam out of the way and sliding into the driver's seat himself. He rolled the window down and grinned up at Sam. "You could make yourself useful and load the bags, though, bitch," he suggested cheekily.

Sam rolled his eyes, but did as Dean asked and threw their bags into the trunk. "Don't think I'm gonna be at your beck and call for the next nine months," he warned as he got into the car, raising an eyebrow when Dean opened his mouth to make some wisecrack. "Just drive, jerk."

***

Dean moaned as he rolled out of bed, hurrying down the hallway to the bathroom—he should've just moved in there after the morning sickness started, roughly a month into the pregnancy. He knew that Sam would be along soon—and sure enough, Sam was in the bathroom, kneeling beside Dean in less than a minute.

After his stomach finally decided to quit with its little hissy fit, he slumped against the wall, groaning softly. "Jesus," he hissed. "Damn pregnancy—whole new respect for women, let me tell you."

Sam rubbed Dean's arm, reaching over to flush the toilet; the smell would set Dean off again if they weren't careful. "It won't last forever," he soothed, although honestly it was kind of funny. Apparently the Fae had a sense of humour after all. "Come on, are you done? I'll buy you breakfast if you think you can keep it down?"

Dean mulled the offer over. On the one hand, he was starving now. On the other, he didn't want there to be anything that he would have to taste twice if his stomach mutinied again. But... "Burgers?" he asked hopefully. "I don't want to go out, but could you pick some up?"

Sam raised a sceptical eyebrow. "Burgers for breakfast?" he asked doubtfully.

Dean offered a sheepish smile. "Cravings must be starting. Plus I really want comfort food."

Sam sighed, getting to his feet. "Okay, just let me get dressed and I'll go out. Don't say I never did anything for you."

Dean offered Sam a grin, letting Sam help him to his feet. "Thanks, Sammy," he said, clapping Sam on the back while he went to go change into some cleaner clothes. He didn't want to spend the rest of the day in the clothes that he was going to be convinced smelled like upchuck.

Sam returned a little while later with a bag of take out from Dean's favourite place. Now that he was pregnant Dean was sleeping a lot longer, which meant that most fast food places were open for lunch by the time he was demanding breakfast. Finding Dean in the kitchen, Sam fished his own chicken salad out of the bag before dropping it in front of his brother. "Enjoy."

"Sweet mother of God," Dean moaned happily, his stomach rumbling as he reached for the bag. As soon as he opened it, though, the rumbling started up again for an entirely different reason. The burger smelled simultaneously delicious and revolting, and Dean bolted for the kitchen sink. All that came out was bile, though, and it _burned._ "Are you fucking kidding me?" he rasped, banging a fist on the counter. "How the hell am I gonna survive eight more months without burgers?"

Sam clucked sympathetically, quickly getting up and throwing the burger out before the smell hit Dean again. "Here," he said softly, sliding his salad onto the counter beside Dean. "Try this."

"Don't want none of your damned rabbit food," Dean muttered sullenly. Only... he kinda did. His stomach wanted it really badly. He sighed grabbed a fork, pausing to glare at his midsection. "Traitor," he scowled at it.

Sam snickered. "Looks like my niece or nephew knows what's good for them," he teased, grabbing a box of cereal. "It's your body's way of telling you to keep it healthy. You're eating for two now—you want to give birth to an obese baby?"

Dean transferred his scowl to Sam. "Shuddup; ain't no child of mine gonna be obese. 'Sides, you think we'll keep the kid in the dark about what's in this world?"

Sam shrugged. "No, but that has nothing to do with its eating habits. If there's one thing I'm gonna pass onto the kid, it's that green equals good."

Dean rolled his eyes. "I've been eating diner food for my entire life, Sammy," he pointed out. "I've also kept up an active lifestyle. The kid'll be fine."

"You've kept up an active lifestyle by chasing monsters," Sam pointed out. "You want that for your kid?"

"Just because I want to pass on my knowledge doesn't mean I want to drag the kid out on hunts, Jesus," Dean snapped. "I'm not Dad." He shoved the salad to the side and stalked out of the kitchen, going down to the shooting range. He needed to work off some of the irrational anger that was starting to overcome him.

Sam didn't react beyond putting the salad in the fridge before returning to his own breakfast. Dean had been extra testy in the past few weeks, and Sam knew that it had very little to do with him. Hormones were a bitch, and following with the intentions of trying to sort out the misunderstanding before Dean calmed down would only result in Dean threatening to shoot him. Instead, Sam sat down at the table with his bowl of cereal and settled in to wait.

Dean didn't reappear until he'd expended three entire clips of ammo. Then he walked calmly into the kitchen and sat down across from Sam, taking a deep breath. "I know you don't think I'm Dad, or that I would intentionally put my child in harm's way. But you have to understand—after _everything_ I've gone through, especially Purgatory, I am _not_ going to let my child go through life without knowing how to defend himself against every possible danger."

Sam didn't look up from the newspaper he was now reading. "I know that, Dean," he said simply, turning a page. "And you have to understand that I was still talking about your child's diet."

Dean sighed. "I'm too old to change," he said stubbornly. "I'm not gonna completely switch my diet." He hesitated, but when Sam didn't look up, only idly turned a page of his newspaper, Dean offered tentatively, "But... I could try to eat some healthier things." He never could resist trying to make Sam happy.

Sam did look up then, and graced Dean with a pleased smile. "Your salad's in the fridge," he said. "Figured you might be hungry."

Dean grumbled unintelligibly, but it lacked heat as he got up and crossed to the fridge, retrieving the salad and a fork. He sat back down and started picking at it, gradually growing more enthusiastic when his stomach didn't immediately reject the sustenance. "Thanks again," he said after several long minutes. "For putting up with all of my shit."

Sam just laughed. "Hormones, man," he chuckled, shrugging. "They're a bitch. But Jess was worse when she was on her period, so don't worry about it. Besides," he added, a teasing tone entering his voice. "I can't really tell the difference between pregnant you and normal you."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Just like I can't tell the difference between you and a moose," he shot back, grinning affectionately. He really was grateful, though, that Sam was with him; Dean didn't want to imagine going through this with anyone else by his side.

Sam rolled his eyes, but he was smirking as he returned his attention to his newspaper. "Shut up and eat your rabbit food, preggers."

Dean stuck his tongue out at Sam. "Bitch," he muttered, resuming his previous task of eating. After all, as Sam had pointed out, Dean _was_ eating for two now. Incredible as it seemed. Which reminded him—"Did you find out if something like this has happened before? Or what a Fae even is?”

Sam let out a breath and closed his newspaper over. "They're kind of like fairies, except that they don't make deals—like, they don't accept offerings or gifts from humans. They don't like being indebted to others. I guess they just dole out their jokes for free." He rubbed a hand over his jaw. "It has happened before, centuries ago. The people in the guy's village waited until the baby was born, and then killed the baby and the, um, father. So we don't know if the Fae would have intervened with either after that."

Dean stared at Sam, jaw slack, before he very slowly pushed the bowl in front of him to the side. One hand fisted on his thigh, the other went protectively to his stomach. "Nothing," he growled, "is getting my child. Powerful fairy or not." Dean may not have wanted this, but he sure as hell was going to be the best damned father/mother that any kid could have.

Sam would never, ever admit to the way his insides melted at Dean going all protective-mama-bear over the prospect of someone taking his baby. "I know," he agreed quickly. "We're not going to let anything get either of you, I promise."

Dean nodded. “I know. It’s just—“ He took a deep breath. “Nothing. Nevermind.” He wasn’t going to admit that he was scared out of his fucking mind—because they had no plan for this baby besides “get through the pregnancy.”

"No, what?" Sam persisted stubbornly. "Dean, neither of us know what we're doing here. If you don't talk about what's bothering you, I can't just read your mind and fix it for you."

"The whole thing's bothering me, Sam," Dean snapped. And there was the irritation again, back in full force. "Don't you think this whole thing would bother you if you didn't even _realize_ you had a vagina all of a sudden, and decided to let some random dude screw you—and then you find out the next morning that you are now _pregnant_ from a drunken hook-up with a guy whose name _you don't even know_?"

Sam looked like he was going to interrupt, but Dean just barreled on. "Yeah, this whole thing bothers me. There's times I wish it never happened—but I can't do anything about it. There's no way this baby won't be born, I'm willing to bet the Fae made damn sure of that. _My_ baby will be born, whether I want it to or not. So I am trying to work with this, Sam. I'm trying to make the best of an unfixable situation."

Sam sighed and looked down at his hands, which were resting on the table. "I don't know what to say," he admitted. "I can't imagine what you must be going through. But I'm gonna be here to help however I can. Whatever you need, Dean."

Dean's heart twisted at Sam's last words. Because Sam could never want to be with Dean the way Dean wanted—needed—him to be. "I know," he whispered, resting his head in his hands. "I know."

***

Sam was just finishing putting the groceries away when Dean came into the kitchen, preceded by his moderately-sized baby bump. "Hey Dean. Yes, I remembered your pickles, don't worry," Sam said with a smile, one that widened when he turned to look at his brother. "Hi Belly." Dean, in Sam's opinion, looked absolutely great. He was already glowing in the way that only mommies could—although he hated it when Sam called him a mommy—and for what was maybe the first time in his life, he looked healthy. And _sexy_ , but that wasn't a new thing, and as always Sam was doing his best not to think about it. 

“Yesss…” Dean hissed happily, making a beeline for the fridge and grabbing the pickles, bending over to dig around in the freezer and grab the cake-batter flavored ice cream. It was a disgusting combination, but since the morning sickness had quit, and with the appearance of his baby bump—and the ensuing freak-out—had come the cravings. Luckily, he only had the one: cake-batter-flavored ice cream topped with sliced pickles.

Dean had had a minor breakdown when he’d first noticed his baby bump. He’d been walking out of the shower, and had noticed in the mirror that his towel was lower on his hips than usual. When he’d reached down to lift it up, his fingers had encountered flesh where there should not have been flesh before. And when he’d turned to eye his profile in the mirror, there had been a definitive bump that was _not_ a beer gut.

Cue freak-out.

After that, though, Dean simply avoided mirrors as much as possible; unfortunately, Sam wasn’t as easy to avoid. He had some obsession with constantly wanting to touch Dean’s belly, and he was always _talking_ to it, to the baby.

It made Dean’s heart ache.

"How are you feeling today?" Sam asked, reaching around Dean to put something in a cupboard and passing his hand over Dean's stomach once he'd done so. "Is Belly behaving?" He didn't know why he'd nicknamed Dean's baby that—but they didn't know the sex yet and 'Belly' sounded better than 'it'. 'Baby' was just too obvious. It could also have something to do with the fact that Dean got adorably flustered, a mixture of embarrassment and irritation, when Sam paid his stomach special attention. 

Dean flushed, almost dropping his bowl of ice cream. "Dude, what I have told you about the touching?" he sniped, but it was half-hearted at best. "Yeah, he's fine. Site said I wouldn't be feeling anything until the end of the second trimester—at week twenty-eight or so. It's only the twentieth." Sam was usually the research nut, but after his freak-out with the baby bump, it had all just hit Dean that _he was pregnant._ So he figured he should know as much as possible.

Yeah, a lot of the things he'd read had almost been enough to give _him_ nightmares. So many complications could occur that it didn't seem feasible to Dean that the Fae's magic could protect his baby from everything. And at some point, between the morning sickness and the cravings, Dean had actually—Well, he was starting to look forward, just a little, to being able to hold his child.

Sam chuckled. "You love the touching," he sniped back, feeling a lot less confident than he sounded. As well as finding Dean incredibly sexy with his baby bump, Sam had suddenly become incredibly protective of and affectionate towards the both of them. He just couldn't keep his hands to himself. For all that he protested, Dean allowed it, and Sam was going to take whatever he could get.

Dean just sighed. "Well, finish making the groceries and then come make yourself useful; that stupid couch feels lumpy. I wanna watch some TV, and you are going to be my seat." Massive masochism, thy name is Dean.

Sam raised an eyebrow. "I'm done," he said slowly, watching Dean intently. "Did you just say that you wanna..." Dare he say it? "Snuggle?"

Dean glared at Sam. "Suggest that again, and this ice cream is going down your pants, and the pickles are going up your nose," he threatened. "I said I didn't want to sit on the couch, or any of the other furniture; you're my only other option if I wanna be comfortable."

Sam grinned knowingly, but he was smart enough not to push it. Whatever he wanted to call it, Dean wanted to snuggle, and Sam was not going to pass that up. "Okay," he agreed easily, shrugging. "Let's go sit down."

Dean nodded decisively, following Sam into the TV room and waiting for the younger Winchester to situate himself before Dean climbed into Sam's lap, leaning back against Sam's chest and nudging the remote over. "Put something good on," he ordered, digging his spoon into his ice cream.

Sam snaked an arm around Dean's waist, partly so that he could touch the bump and hold him close—but also to keep Dean from shifting and realising how aroused Sam was by his brother's proximity. He took the remote and flicked through the channels until he found an old Western and settled in to watch it, glancing down at Dean's rapidly-emptying bowl every now and then. "I'm still not over that. It's so disguising."

Dean heaved a long-suffering sigh; they'd already had this discussion several times. "I know it's disgusting. Any other time, I wouldn't touch this with a ten-foot pole even if it was sitting in a devil's trap and had just been exorcised. But... Well. Pregnant. What are you gonna do?" He shrugged, resuming eating, and when he was done, he set the bowl to the side, shifting slightly in Sam's lap to lean more comfortably against his brother, absently letting one of his hands move down to lightly grasp Sam's wrist, the other intertwining their fingers as he watched the movie, snorting at the (extremely fake) special effects and "deaths."

Sam was paying no attention at all to the movie; he was too busy staring at their hands. A part of him wanted to say something, to ask Dean why, exactly, he was holding Sam's hand, but Sam didn't think Dean had even noticed, and he didn't dare draw attention to it if it meant Dean would let go. Instead, he settled back against the sofa, gave Dean's fingers the lightest of squeezes, and allowed himself to pretend that they were a family; that the baby was his, and that Dean was sitting so close because he loved Sam like Sam loved him and wanted to feel his touch.

They stayed like that until the movie was done, and then through the next, and the next, until Dean realized that he was still sitting on Sam's lap, and that they were full-on cuddling. He flushed and squirmed slightly, disentangling their hands as he climbed off of Sam. "Gotta piss," he muttered, walking—luckily he wasn't at the "waddling" stage yet—down the hall. Once he'd locked himself in one of the private bathrooms and relieved himself(He hadn't been lying; apparently being pregnant reduced his bladder to the size of a pea.), Dean stood in front of the sink, fists clenched and braced against it, locking eyes with his reflection.

"Get yourself under control," he whispered, scowling fiercely. "Shit like this _can't_ happen. Sam doesn't want to be any more than an uncle. Certainly not a father." His eyes squeezed shut, trying to hold the tears back. Another bad thing about pregnancy: He could go from murdering rage to mental breakdown in .02seconds flat.

It was quite a while before Dean returned to the room, and when he did, he sat on the opposite end of the couch to Sam. This wasn't really a surprise, but it hurt nonetheless. The only light source was the TV, but even through the gloom it was evident to Sam that he wasn't the only one who was upset. "Are you okay?" he asked tentatively, wary of getting his head bitten off.

Dean shrugged. "Hormones," he said shortly, shifting so he could lift his feet up.

Sam nodded in understanding and reached over to pat Dean's ankle. "You want me to get you more pickles?"

Dean shook his head. "Not hungry," he mumbled, determinedly not looking at Sam. It was bad enough that Dean had already been using Sam as his personal body pillow; he didn't need to start using Sam as a sponge for his stupid, hormonal tears.

Sam sighed, withdrawing his hand. "Okay," he mumbled. "Let me know if there's anything else you need." He turned his attention back to the TV, trying to ignore how cold he felt now with Dean so far away.

***

Dean was sitting at the dining room table, idly flipping through a magazine Sam had picked up for him earlier, when he heard a tremendous crash come from the library. He jumped to his feet, felt something move inside of him, but right now he was more worried about Sam.

"Sammy?" he called, hurrying as fast as he could down the hall to the library. As he rounded the corner, he spotted Sam lying under a pile of books. "What the hell did you do?" he demanded, eyeing the newly-emptied shelves.

"Had a bit of an accident," Sam answered unnecessarily. He shoved the books off himself and stood up, shaking his head to clear his vision of the lights that had been popping in front of his eyes. "I was reaching for a book up top and the shelf tried to come with it. I'm fine."

Dean sank down to sit on the edge of the table. "Dammit, Sam," he swore, a hand going to his abdomen just in time to feel a definitive, sudden pressure that was gone as soon as it came. His eyes widened in shock. "Sammy," he gasped, staring at Sam. "I think the baby just kicked."

"Really?" Sam was at Dean's side in an instant, his eyes wide and excited. He reached out to feel for himself, but hesitated at the last moment, his hand hovering awkwardly over Dean's stomach. Lately Dean hadn't allowed him to be as physically affectionate as he had been at the beginning of the pregnancy; maybe Dean wouldn't want him to touch. "Can I?"

Dean swallowed nervously, thinking it over quickly. He nodded and reached out, tentatively grasping Sam's wrist and bringing his palm to lay flat against Dean's stomach. As soon as Sam touched the bump, Dean felt the baby kick out again, and he let out a breathless little laugh.

Sam let out a soft breath, looking between Dean's face and his own hand in awe. "Wow," he whispered, flexing his fingers and feeling the baby return the pressure. A slow grin spread across Sam's face. "Hi Belly. Hi. Dean. There's a _baby_ in there."

"You're just catching onto this fact?" Dean teased, his grip tightening around Sam's wrist. He stared down at Sam's hand for a second before letting his gaze travel up to rest on Sam's face. Sam looked... gorgeous. Happy. Awed. It made Dean really, really want to kiss him. A small flush traveled up Dean's neck, suffusing his face. That was way out of line, he reminded himself. Sam wasn't his, not like that.

Sam was shaking, giddy with excitement. He wished that he could really let it show; that he could take Dean into his arms and kiss him, tell him how beautiful he was, and that Sam was so proud of him; he wished so much that the baby was his. But he couldn't, and the baby wasn't, and all Sam could do was stand there with his hand on Dean's stomach and a stupid smile on his face that hopefully didn't betray the fact that his happy levels were way too high for an uncle. "We—You're having a baby," he laughed, barely managing to catch himself in time. "This is amazing, Dean. Tell me you know how amazing this is."

"Dude, I'm the one that still has to lug the thing around for five months," Dean laughed. "But yeah, I know—I'm actually... Fuck, Sam, I'm actually excited."

Sam beamed. "That's good, Dean, that's really good. You're gonna be an amazing daddy—or mommy, I guess," he teased, eyes alight with laughter and affection. 

Sam beamed. "That's good, Dean, that's really good. You're gonna be an amazing daddy—or mommy, I guess," he teased, eyes alight with laughter and affection. 

Dean glared at Sam, lifting his other hand to smack Sam in the back of the head. "Bitch," he grumbled, but a smile was playing at the corners of his mouth. Sam hadn't moved back, and Dean was enjoying it immensely—and so was Belly, if the soft, fluttering nudges against Sam's hand were anything to go by.

Dean felt a small pulse of happiness—but wasn't from him. It was from... "Sammy," he whispered, clutching Sam's hand desperately. "The— _She's_ happy. I can... I can feel it, coming from her."

Sam was getting it too, a small glimmer of emotion in the back of his mind that definitely wasn't his own. "I feel it, Dean," he gasped, awed. "I feel _her_. Belly, she's... a girl." He didn't know how he knew, but he did. Dean was going to have a daughter.

Dean nodded, stunned speechless. Belly was... projecting her emotion. She was happy, and Dean and Sam could feel it. He laughed suddenly, and could feel her startlement. "Sorry, sweetheart," he apologized, rubbing over the bump, receiving another small pulse of _happy_ in return. "Sam. Why didn't we think of this? She's the result of _magic._ Not surprising she's got abilities. Or at least _an_ ability."

"That's amazing—but yeah, we should have seen it coming," Sam agreed, his hand falling away from Dean's stomach when he realised how long it had been there. He froze. "Oh. I can't feel her now."

Dean could feel Belly's disappointment mixing with his own—but he didn't know if he was influencing her, or if she was actually missing the contact with Sam. "It's only week thirty," he said thoughtfully. "Maybe she can't project without physical contact?" Another thought hit him, and he grimaced. "We've got to come up with a name for her that's not 'Belly.'"

"We should name her after mom," Sam said softly, and then flinched. "I mean you—you should. If you want. I think it'd be nice."

Dean cautiously reached out and laid a hand on Sam's shoulder. "We should," he agreed quietly. "We should name her after Mom. And... And Jo. Mary Jo."

Sam was startled, but he offered Dean a tentative smile, warmth flooding him at this unexpected gesture. "Yeah," he murmured. "Mary Jo. That's perfect."

***

Dean frowned, turning so he was perpendicular to the mirror, eyeing his stomach. He could feel Mary Jo inside, feeling vaguely worried, but mostly content. He supposed the worry was because Dean was worried.

It was a stupid thing to be worried about, but still. Dean had put on weight. He knew it was normal to do so, but he didn't like it. Didn't like the way it had all gone to his thighs and upper arms. Dean placed one hand on each side of his baby bump, which had become much more pronounced now that he was entering his thirty-sixth week. Mary Jo responded to the touch by kicking, and Dean grinned. She'd be a fighter, that was for damn sure.

Sam was rattling around in the kitchen, dishing up what had turned out to be a very promising-looking meal of grilled chicken and potatoes, with some salad on the side because Dean would actually eat it these days. Pleased with himself, Sam brought the plates to the table and moved towards the kitchen door. "Dean!" he called. "Dinner's ready!”

Dean waddled—yes, he had finally reached the waddling stage and it was _mortifying_ —to the kitchen, sitting down at the table and letting out a sigh as soon as he was off of his feet. "Dinner looks great," he said, offering Sam a small, distracted smile.

Sam looked sympathetic. "Is she hurting your back again?" he asked gently. "I could get you a cushion?"

Dean shook his head. "Not my back; she's been pretty good about that. But my ankles have been hurting a little bit." He poked absently at his salad for a moment, shifting a cherry tomato around before he asked without looking up, "Do you think I've gained a lot of weight?"

Sam couldn't help it; he laughed. "Dean, you're carrying a baby. Of course you've gained weight; there's a whole other person living and growing inside of you. Why?" 

Dean shrugged. "I know I've gained some weight because of Mary Jo, but... I don't know, it just seems like I've gained a lot more than just baby weight." He shrugged again and took a bite of his salad. "Just thinking out loud, is all," he mumbled.

Sam frowned. He could see what Dean meant, but it was still all baby weight—women put on a few extra pounds in strange places when they were pregnant, didn't they? "I wouldn't worry about it," he said after a moment. "Whatever you've gained, you can work off after the baby's born. Is the chicken okay?"

Dean glanced up at Sam, but then quickly looked back down at his plate, hurt stinging him. Still, he took a bite of the chicken. "Yeah, it's good," he muttered, eating listlessly. He hated this. He loved Mary Jo, but he hated what the pregnancy was doing to his body and his hormones.

They ate in silence after that, and although Dean seemed largely uninterested in his food, he finished everything on his plate. He left the room abruptly after Sam offered to wash up, leaving Sam confused and concerned. Once the dishes had been put away, he followed—and found Dean in his room, twisting and turning in front of the mirror.

Sam knocked on the open door, but only so as to observe the pleasantries; he walked in without invitation. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, leaning against the doorframe.

Dean glanced up and caught Sam's eye in his reflection. "No," he said shortly, scowling. "I'm not okay. Dammit, Sam, look at me!" He gestured to his body. "I look—God, this makes me sound like such a chick, but I look _terrible._ I've got weight in all the wrong places, places that will be a bitch to get it out from, and I've got stretch marks all over my abdomen. I look fucking terrible, and you just play it off as 'Oh, it's just baby weight.'" The last part he said in a mocking falsetto, and then hugged his arms around his body, squeezing his eyes shut against his tears. Dammit, he just felt terrible, all right? He was pregnant, he was hormonal, he was allowed to really hate how his body looked.

Sam frowned, pushing off the doorframe and walking over to stand behind Dean. He could see the mirror clearly, thanks to his height, and so it was Dean's reflection he kept his eyes on as he reached around and carefully pulled Dean's arms away from his body. "It is just baby weight," he insisted, quiet but sincere. "And it'll go away. I know it's not what you're used to, but it's perfectly normal, and Dean, you don't look terrible. You look—you look beautiful."

Dean scoffed. "No, I don't," he insisted quietly. "Maybe I'm not completely ugly, but I'm not beautiful, Sam."

"Of course you are," Sam murmured, and he released Dean's arms in favour of pulling up his shirt until his baby bump was bare, stretch marks and all. "Look at yourself, Dean. That's a life you're carrying in there. You don't look fat; you look healthy. Healthier than I've ever seen you before. And the stretch marks..." He rested his hands on Dean's stomach, tracing the shallow grooves with his fingertips. "You think your battle scars are sexy? They're nothing compared to these. They show that this baby is healthy too; that she's growing and getting ready to meet the world. That's all you, Dean. _You_ did that. So don't look at yourself and think that you're ugly. Think that you're strong, and healthy, and so beautiful."

Dean couldn't stop the tears, though he tried. He hated crying. Only thing worse was seeing Sam cry. "How can you think that?" he whispered, his voice choked. "I know my girl'll be beautiful when she's born, and she'll just get more beautiful the older she gets, but me? I'm not beautiful, or gorgeous, or whatever. I'm an anomaly, Sam."

"That doesn't change anything," Sam insisted, anguished. "So you're a guy who's going to give birth—that's incredible. No one else can say that; no other father can say that they've carried their own baby. You're special, Dean."

Dean snorted. "Whatever," he muttered, shifting slightly so he was leaning back against Sam's chest, tugging Sam's arms until they were wrapped around Dean's middle, Dean's arms laying on top of them. He just wanted to be held; words wouldn't help now. He had a sudden fierce wish that he hadn't gone to the bar that night—that Sam was Mary Jo's father. He had to swallow it down, though; remind himself that Sam was probably content to just be Mary Jo's uncle.

Sam didn't argue the point any further, sensing that whatever he had to say would go unheard. Instead, he just held Dean, watching him in the mirror and hoping that he would look up and see the sincerity on Sam's face. He did think Dean was beautiful—he always had, but especially now that Dean was pregnant. The man was _radiant_ , although that was not a word Sam would ever let his brother hear him say. Sam ached to think that Dean didn't see himself that way; that he thought he was ugly and fat and undesirable. He couldn't have been further from the truth. Without thinking, Sam ducked his head and dropped a light kiss onto Dean's shoulder—and then froze.

Dean froze when he felt Sam's lips press against his shoulder, his eyes flying open and meeting Sam's own startled gaze in the mirror. "Sammy?" he whispered tentatively, half-afraid of what would happen next. His breath was starting to shorten; was it possible Sam...?

"I'm sorry," Sam whispered back, mortified, but he didn't release his hold on Dean. There was something in the way Dean was looking at him that was making him think that maybe he didn't need to be sorry at all. _Maybe._ "Dean..." Overwhelmed, both by emotion and exhaustion, Sam pressed his face into Dean's neck and resigned himself to whatever was to come next.

Dean stepped away from Sam, but only so he could turn around and catch one of Sam's upper arms in his hand. They were still standing close enough for Dean's baby bump to be brushing against Sam's stomach. Dean looked up at Sam searchingly, and—praying he was reading the situation right—he carefully leaned forward, tugging Sam forward to meet him halfway as he tentatively pressed their lips together.

It wasn't spectacular. The world didn't right itself; fireworks didn't explode behind their eyelids; electricity didn't crackle down their spines. It was a simple kiss, an almost chaste press of mouths, Sam's upper lip catching on Dean's lower lip when they reluctantly broke apart—but it was enough. Sam kept his eyes closed afterwards, afraid of what he would see on Dean's face if he opened them; instead, he followed his instincts, brushed his nose along Dean's cheek and whispered, "I love you."

Dean let out a breathy laugh, tucking his face into the crook of Sam's neck. "I love you, too," he mumbled into the skin, wrapping his arms around Sam's waist, Mary Jo's happiness twining with his, amplifying it.

Sam felt it too, and he couldn't help but grin as he held Dean close, Mary Jo cradled between them. He had no idea what this meant, exactly, but he was willing to seize it with both hands and cling on for dear life. Dean had kissed him—Dean _loved_ him. Already that was more than Sam had ever dared to hope for. 

***

Dean was getting really frustrated. Sam had said he'd loved him, Dean had reciprocated, they'd kissed—but they hadn't kissed since then. They were back to sharing easy touches, comfortable evenings spent cuddling on the couch while watching television, but Sam didn't sleep in the same bed as Dean, and he didn't kiss Dean. It was starting to drive Dean up the wall, and he could feel Mary Jo's unhappiness, too. He had a feeling that she was upset because _he_ was upset, but he couldn't find a way to _not_ be upset. Dean would try to convince himself that he wasn't upset, that Sam was just being careful because Dean was pregnant, but Dean didn't _want_ Sam to be careful, dammit. He wanted Sam to kiss him, hold him, act like a goddamned _boyfriend_ , for Christ's sake.

About a week after the scene in Dean's bedroom, they were getting ready to go to bed, and all Sam did was freaking _hug_ Dean before pulling back and making to go down the hall. Dean couldn't take it anymore; he snapped. "What the hell is your problem?" he demanded, crossing his arms.

Sam hesitated on his way down the hall, and turned slowly to face Dean. "I don't have a problem," he answered, eyes wide. "What do you mean?"

Crap. Dean could feel himself getting upset, and it was upsetting Mary Jo, which was making _him_ more upset... "I mean, you're treating me like I'm made of glass, you dick," he snapped, trying to keep the anger and _not_ let himself start crying. "I'm not, okay? I thought we were—I thought we were good. Finally."

"We are good," Sam said softly, approaching Dean with his hands held up as though willing him not to shoot. "And I know you're not made of glass. But I—I don't know what you want from me, and I'm trying not to push you until you're ready to tell me."

"You don't know what I want from you?" Dean echoed incredulously. "What I _want_ from you is for you to treat me like you would if we'd had a moment like that when I _wasn't_ pregnant. I want you to hold me, kiss me, _touch_ me. I want you to treat me like the guy you love—not just as your brother anymore."

Sam didn't even hesitate; he crossed the remaining space between them in two . strides and took Dean into his arms, kissing him soundly. "I'm sorry," he breathed against Dean's lips when they came up for air. "I want that, too. I just didn't want to push."

Dean half-heartedly shoved at Sam's chest, scowling. "Since when the hell _haven't_ you pushed when it comes to feelings?" he bitched, but he let himself sink back against Sam.

Sam chuckled, stroking a hand up Dean's back. "Since you got pregnant and became so damn hormonal that I never know which way is up with you," he teased. "It was a big thing. I figured you might want some time to work through it."

Dean glared at Sam. "I've been 'working through it' since I was nineteen," he retorted, poking Sam roughly in the middle of the chest. "I'm done working it out, now I just wanna be with you."

"Okay, okay." Sam stepped back, laughing, and held his hands up again. "Can we go to bed now? I really want to try out that memory foam mattress of yours."

Dean smiled, grabbing Sam's hand and pulling him into the bedroom. "Yes, we can go to bed now," he said, chuckling.

Once inside Dean's room, Sam released his hand so that he could undress. He was quick to lose his socks, jeans and flannel, but he was suddenly unsure about taking off his t-shirt. Deciding that he could always use the excuse of being cold if Dean got upset again, he took the safe option and left it on, sliding beneath the covers and offering Dean an encouraging smile.

Dean paused in removing his sweatpants—he couldn't wear jeans anymore, not when he was a month away from giving birth—to eye Sam curiously. "Why do you still have a shirt on?" he asked. His own was lying on the floor.

Sam opened his mouth to say that he was cold, but found that he couldn't. Dean would call him on his bullshit immediately. "Well excuse me for trying to be a gentleman," he muttered instead, blushing.

Dean had to laugh at that. He shed his pants so that he was wearing only his boxers, and then slipped into bed, shifting so he was straddling Sam. "Do you have any idea how horny being pregnant makes someone?" he demanded, running his hands up Sam's chest. "I've been going crazy this week."

Sam shivered and moaned, pulling Dean down for a slow, deep kiss. "I have no idea how horny being pregnant makes someone," he murmured, sliding his hands over Dean's hips, fingers teasing at the waistband of his boxers. "But I think you'd better show me."

***

The Impala raced down the road, trees and fields blurring at the speed the old car was going. Sam was in the passenger seat, Mary Jo in a carseat in the back. Sam and Dean were teasing each other, and every so often Sam would turn around to lightly tickle on of Mary Jo's bare feet, making the girl squeal and giggle, waves of happiness pulsing from her and suffusing Sam and Dean. 

Dean spotted an intersection up ahead, and he absently downshifted, moving his other foot from the gas to the brake pedal, glancing over to say something to Sam. The look on Sam's face was worried, though. "Dean, you need to slow down," he said, pointing at the speedometer.

Dean glanced down, shocked to see the needle climbing up past seventy. "What the hell?" He applied the brake harder, but instead of slowing, the Impala betrayed him for the first time; she sped up. There were more cars now in the intersection, and Dean thought he could see glimpses of silver-gold and jet black eyes set in the drivers' faces.

Mary Jo let out a distressed whimper, and Dean had to swallow his own echo. "It's gonna be okay, sweetheart, it's gonna be okay," he chanted, reaching back with one hand to clasp her knee. He tried the brake again, but it just squeaked back and forth uselessly as the engine revved again, the needle passing 110.

The Impala seemed to jump forward, and suddenly the intersection was right there, then Dean didn't know anything except for Mary Jo's screams and the sounds of screaming metal.

***

Sam jolted awake, and at first he had absolutely no idea why—but then he heard the screaming. He had his hands on Dean immediately, shaking him, calling his name. "Dean. Dean! Wake up, man, you're dreaming. _Dean!_ "

Dean woke up swinging, his panic and Mary Jo's a feedback loop that brought him to the edge of hysteria. After it sunk in that he'd just punched Sam in the nose, though, he calmed down—slightly. "Sammy?" he asked, his arms wrapping protectively around his stomach. Mary Jo was starting to calm down, and Dean absently started humming softly, looking at Sam worriedly.

Sam was holding one hand to his face, but he was pretty sure that he wasn't bleeding and that nothing was broken. With his other hand, he reached out, clasping Dean's shoulder and pulling him in. "You're okay," he said thickly. "Mary Jo is fine. It was just a dream, Dean. Whatever it was, it wasn't real."

Dean clung to Sam, unable to stop most of his shuddering sobs. "You died, Sammy," he choked out. "You and... and Mary Jo, you _died_ and it was my fault, couldn't stop—stop the car, ran into—" Dean hitched in desperate breaths, trying to control himself. It wasn't real. It wasn't real. Sam was right here.

"Fuck." Sam released his throbbing nose so that he could wrap both of his arms around Dean and hold him, hands stroking and petting and soothing wherever they could reach. "It was just a dream," he repeated. "It didn't mean anything. Everything's okay. I'm right here, and Mary Jo is—" He hesitated, feeling for the pulse of emotion in the back of his mind that was only there when he was touching Dean. "—scared for you, but she's fine. She just needs her daddy to calm down. Can you do that for me?"

Dean dragged in another deep breath, concentrating on the feeling of Mary Jo inside of him, her emotions mixing with his until he was gradually calmed down, still hiccupping slightly. That dream had scared the shit out of him.

"It's okay," Sam murmured again once Dean's breathing had slowed, his fingers moving through Dean's hair now. "We're safe. I'm the one with the freaky prophetic dreams, not you, remember?"

Dean choked on a laugh. "Right, right," he murmured, pressing as close to Sam as he could. "It just—it felt _so real_ , and I couldn't stop it, couldn't save you. Either of you."

Sam sighed against Dean's temple, one hand finally making its way down to his stomach. "Once the baby's born, I'll let you tinker with the Impala until you're certain that nothing can go wrong with her, okay?" he murmured. "Will that help put your mind at ease?"

Dean laughed. "Nothing's wrong with my baby," he murmured. "But yeah, that'd help." He tugged Sam down, shifting so that he was tucked up against Sam's side. "Don't you go anywhere," he muttered.

"Never," Sam promised, twisting slightly so that he could rub soothing circles over Dean's bump. "Go back to sleep. I'm right here."

***

Dean and Sam were curled up on the couch, Dean resting against the armrest while Sam gave him a foot massage; Dean's ankles and feet had been killing him. He was really starting to look forward to Mary Jo's birth, only three weeks away now. Mostly, he just wanted to hold his daughter, but part of it was he just wanted her _out_ so he didn't have to lug her weight around _all_ the time.

Dean moaned blissfully, his toes curling as Sam's fingers found a particularly tender spot and rubbed the ache away. "Jesus, I love you," he murmured, his head falling back, exposing his throat.

Sam grinned and continued his ministrations. Jess had taught him how to give a good foot rub, but this was the first chance he'd had to put that skill to good use since he'd left Stanford. "I know; I'm awesome," he chuckled. "Must be to put up with your whining all day."

Dean idly kicked out at Sam, scowling. "Bitch," he muttered. Mary Jo chose that moment to let a little wave of contentment loose, though, and he sighed, relaxing. "She really loves you, already," he murmured, absently rubbing slow circles over his abdomen.

Sam stilled for just a moment before carrying on. "I really love her, too," he answered, smiling. "I can't wait to meet her." In all honesty, he was looking forward to Mary Jo's birth with equal parts excitement and dread. He hadn't quite worked out how to deal with the fact that if he'd pulled his head out of his ass earlier, Dean would have chosen to sleep with him that night instead of some random guy. It didn't matter that he and Dean were together now; Sam would never be Mary Jo's father. 

Apparently Mary Jo could feel something from Sam; she abruptly felt worried, bordering on upset. "Sam?" he asked cautiously, sitting up straighter. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Sam said quickly, but he couldn't help the way he tensed up. He really didn't want to talk about this. "I'm good."

Dean frowned. "No, you're not," he argued gently. "Sam, just tell me what's wrong? Please?"

Sam sighed, releasing Dean's foot and adjusting his position on the sofa. "I do love Mary Jo," he murmured, his gaze fixed on his knees where they were tucked up to his chest. "She's gonna be the most beautiful miracle, I know it, and I already love her so much, just from watching her grow inside you and feeling her kick and sensing her emotions. To actually see and hold her will be incredible. I just..." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "I wish I got to be her dad."

Dean swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat. _Oh._ he scooted forward, until he could reach out and lay his hand on Sam's knee. "You are her dad," he said fiercely. "In every way that counts. You're gonna be here to raise her, Sam. Love her. That guy who contributed his spunk? He's not her dad. I didn't even know anything had happened to me that day, Sam. I didn't know, otherwise I _wouldn't_ have gone out—I would've barricaded myself in the motel room."

Sam looked up, and hesitantly covered Dean's hand with his own. "Thank you," he whispered. "I didn't know if you'd want—I love you. Both of you."

Dean couldn't help it; he laughed. "Sam, I love you. Mary Jo loves you. You love us. Why shouldn't I want you to be her other dad?" Catching the look on Sam's face, he switched his expression to a scowl. "You make some crack about me being a mommy, and you're not touching me until she's old enough to get the sex talk," he threatened.

Sam hung his head, properly chastised. "I'll be good," he promised, biting his lip to keep from smiling. "No way could I keep my hands off you that long."

Dean nodded. "By the way, _you_ will be the one giving her that talk. I had to give it to you; it's your turn now."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, okay," he agreed. "Your version of the sex talk was traumatising."

Dean chuckled. "Yeah, I could've done better," he admitted, wincing slightly at the memory. They fell quiet for several moments. "I can't believe it's almost over," Dean murmured.

"Neither can I," Sam agreed, reaching out to lay a hand on Dean's bump. Mary Jo wriggled beneath his touch and Sam thought he could feel her contentment mingling with his own. "But I'm excited. Really excited."

Smiling, Dean reached down and covered Sam's hand with his own. "So am I," he said quietly.

***

Sam nibbled on a slice of toast, flipping idly through a colour chart that he'd picked up a few days ago. Currently his old room was set up so that Dean could give birth in there, but afterwards it was being converted into a nursery, and as Dean kept insisting that Mary Jo was Sam's daughter too, Sam figured that he should get some say on the decor. At least while Dean wasn't around to yell at him for considering pink. 

This last week or so, Dean had taken to napping periodically throughout the day. He was so tired, and his ankles and back were really giving him grief. Most of the time Sam would curl up next to him, rubbing his baby bump and promising that Mary Jo would be here soon, and then it would all be over—but that wasn't working as well as it had. Dean was past what they'd worked out as his due date, and Mary Jo still showed no sign of arriving. She wasn't in any distress, there was nothing wrong—she was simply content to stay inside Dean for a little while longer. Dean was not happy, and considering he hadn't actually been the one to knock Dean up, Sam was finding himself in the firing line awfully often.

Dean woke up from his latest nap with a vague feeling of unease and impatience—the latter coming from Mary Jo. There was no discernible reason for it, though, so Dean ignored it, getting carefully out of bed(he couldn't _wait_ for when he could spring out of bed again) to waddle down the hallway to the kitchen, finding Sam. His brother was bent of a page of color samples, and Dean made a disgusted noise. "We are not painting the room pink unless she specifically asks for it when she's older," he reminded Sam, moving past the younger Winchester to get to the fridge and pull out a glass of apple juice.

Sam didn't bother to look up, but he did smile. "What about lemon?" he asked mildly. "Or mint green. Or both."

Dean hummed thoughtfully, carefully leaning against the counter. He'd felt what the online sites called the baby "dropping," or moving lower, closer to his groin and further from his lungs. He'd also been experiencing vague cramps for the past few days. Hopefully that meant that this was almost over. "Both sounds good," he decided. "Could figure some sort of pattern. Might be able to incorporate some more protections, too; can never be too careful."

Sam nodded. "We're not painting a devil's trap on our baby's ceiling, though," he warned. "Except maybe in varnish."

Dean grimaced at a sudden pain in his abdomen, but Mary Jo flooded him with a sense of relief, so he relaxed. "Yeah, su— _HolyshitSammymywaterjustbroke,_ " he gasped, looking down at the wet stain spreading down his sweatpants leg. He dropped his glass of juice, ignoring the broken glass, and grabbed the counter, staring up at Sam in shock.

Sam was up and at Dean's side in an instant, one hand on his shoulder. "Okay, okay, stay calm," he instructed, sounding panicked himself. "Let's go into my room—watch your step." Thankful that he'd kept his shoes on after he'd got back from the store, Sam kicked most of the broken glass away from Dean's bare feet and led him from the kitchen. "It might not happen straight away, I've read that it can take hours for first time mothers—don't look at me like that—but you're not exactly a typical case. Are you having contractions?"

Dean nodded frantically, gasping as he felt the first one. "Yeah, yeah, oh _shit_ , she's not wasting any time now," he panted.

Sam paled. He pushed open the door to his room and helped Dean onto the bed, trying to ignore the fact that his hands were shaking. "Okay, okay, I need you to lay back, and I'm... I'm gonna get these sweatpants off you, yeah?" While he was doing that, Dean's body spasmed with another contraction, and Sam felt close to passing out. This was happening too fast; he wasn't ready. While Dean writhed and groaned in pain, Sam discarded the soaking sweatpants and reached up to offer Dean his hand. "Do you remember that lamaze video I showed you? Breathe with me."

Dean grabbed onto Sam's hand, frantically trying to recall the breathing pattern. Mary Jo chose that moment to let out a small wave of confusion, and Dean's panic skyrocketed. "Shit, shit, Sam, she's confused, I don't—Why is she—"

The Fae reappeared for the first time since it had delivered the news of Dean's new genitals. "Your body is still male—not designed for giving birth. The birth will be extremely hard, not to mention dangerous—for you, at least. Mary Jo, did you name her? _She_ will survive, no matter what. You, on the other hand... You have a greater chance of dying."

"What?!" Sam roared, tightening his hold on Dean's hand. "You can't just drop something like that on us _now_! What do you mean, it's dangerous for him? How do I make it safe?"

The Fae raised an eyebrow at the young Winchester, not even flinching when Dean gasped in pain. " _You_ can't make it safe. His body is still distinctly male—the female genitalia did not change his pelvis at all. Quite simply, his hips are too small for childbearing."

"Then how do _you_ make it— _ngh_ —safe?" Dean growled. He could feel Mary Jo projecting; she was starting to get scared.

"I can help you; I can ease the birth. Your body will return to normal after she is born. There is a price, however." The Fae transferred its gaze to Dean; the decision would have to be the older Winchester's. This lesson had been designed for him, and now it was up to him to pass or fail.

Sam bared his teeth at the creature. "What price?" he snarled. "What do you want from him?"

The Fae bared its own teeth in the semblance of a smile—but it sent shivers down Dean's back, even while contractions wracked his body. "I want the child." Dean's mind blanked. The thing wanted _Mary Jo_? "I can make sure both of them live, but once the child turns three, she becomes mine—forever. No getting out of the deal, nothing. You get three years with her."

"Why?" Dean managed to choke out.

"Children are precious to my kind. We have far too few. I can raise her as a Fae. She will have a good life; she'll be revered, taken care of, protected, and taught to master her abilities to the fullest extent. You will live, knowing you have done the impossible." The Fae watched Dean intently, though its face was impassive.

Dean swallowed, hard. Give up Mary Jo, and live with Sam? Or let Sam have her, while Dean died. "I say no, and Sam keeps her, right? You'll never bother them, never try to take her while Sam is alive?"

The Fae just nodded, and Sam's heart stopped. How could it ask Dean to do that? Ignoring the Fae entirely, Sam turned to Dean and looked into his eyes. He wanted to cry, to beg Dean not to leave him, to choose himself—but he couldn't. He loved Mary Jo just as much as he loved Dean, and he couldn't bear to lose either of them.

Lost in his brother's eyes, Sam said simply, "I love you," and knew that Dean would hear what he meant.

_I love you and I don't want you to die._

_I love you and I will cherish your baby as if she were my own._

_I love you and this is your decision._

Dean swallowed, hard, and then looked the Fae right in the eye. "You can go to hell—you'll never get my girl." Another contraction tore through him, strong enough to make Dean cry out.

The Fae smiled suddenly, genuinely. "Good decision," he praised, walking forward, ignoring Sam's protests, to press his fingers to Dean's abdomen.

Dean yelped as he felt a rippling sensation, but immediately he felt Mary Jo's relief—she had room now. "What?" he gasped. "I didn't—didn't ask for your help."

"Precisely," the Fae smiled. "You chose what was best for your daughter—for her to be raised with a man who loves her. Not with an unknown creature, so that you could live with the man you love. You learned your lesson." With that, the Fae disappeared.

Sam and Dean stared at each other, but they didn't have time to process what had just happened. Not a moment later, Dean was seized by another contraction, and then everything started moving very quickly. Within half an hour, Sam was holding a screaming baby in his arms. 

"You did so good," he praised Dean, unashamed to admit that tears were streaming down his face as he cut the cord and carried Mary Jo over to a bowl of luke-warm water he'd put there earlier. Tenderly, reverently, he washed the baby and wrapped her in a pale pink blanket before returning to Dean's bedside. Dean was drenched in sweat and he looked exhausted, but happy as Sam carefully placed Mary Jo in his arms. "Look what you did. She's finally here, and she's so beautiful, Dean."

Dean gave a tired smile, and tugged Mary Jo closer, warmth flooding his chest as he stared at her. "She really is," he agreed, his voice ragged from labor. "Most beautiful thing I've ever seen. She'll be a heartbreaker when she grows up."

"Absolutely," Sam agreed, pressing a kiss to the top of Dean's head. "I'm so proud of you."

Dean let a breathless laugh escape; it was finally over. He could finally hold his daughter. _Their_ daughter. 

***

Dean sighed and rolled over and out of the bed. "I got her," he muttered, gesturing blindly at the wailing baby monitor. He could also feel Mary Jo's discomfort; only a week old and she was already strong enough to project throughout most of the bunker. Dean hurried out of the bedroom and down the hall, slipping inside quickly. "Hey, sweetheart," he murmured, approaching the crib and scooping her into his arms. He bounced her slightly, humming "Hey Jude" under his breath as he carried her to the changing table and quickly changing her diaper—he still found it hilarious that Sam had issues with the smell. Sam found it semi-hilarious; to him, it reinforced the whole "Dean as Mommy" image.

Once Mary Jo's diaper was clean, she'd stopped crying and was now only sniffling slightly. Dean started walking little patterns over the carpet, his footsteps falling in time to the beat of "I Love Rock 'N' Roll." He rocked Mary Jo until she was asleep, emanating nothing but contentment as she dreamed. Dean quickly replaced her in the crib, covering her with the blanket and tucking her stuffed cat into the crook of her arm. He smiled, reaching down to run the back of his knuckles over the soft skin of her cheek before he slipped out of the room as quietly as he'd come in.

As he carefully shut the door to his and Sam's bedroom, Dean spotted Sam rolling over to watch him as he approached the bed. "Just a diaper change," Dean whispered, sliding under the covers and up against Sam's side, wrapping his arms around Sam's waist.

Sam hummed contentedly and got an arm around Dean, tangling their legs together. "She get back to sleep okay?" he asked around a yawn. "She's been fussy about that lately."

Dean nodded, resting his head on Sam's chest. "Yeah, hummed at her for a little bit and she went to sleep. 'Hey Jude' and 'I Love Rock 'N' Roll.'" He chuckled sleepily. "Takes after her daddy and grandma for music taste." Dean sobered at his last sentence; their mother wouldn't get to see Mary Jo grow up. Wouldn't get to dote on Mary Jo, tell her embarrassing stories about Sam and Dean when they were younger, or any of the usual things grandparents did. It drove home just how small their family really was—Just Sam, Mary Jo, and Dean.

Sam sensed the change in Dean's mood, and he thought he could tell why. "Mom would have loved her," he murmured. "She would have adored her. And we're gonna make sure Mary Jo grows up knowing that. It's not as good as it would be if she had her grandma here with her, but it's the next best thing."

"Yeah, I know," Dean murmured. He let Mary Jo's contentment and the rhythm of Sam's heartbeat lull him to sleep, where his dreams were peaceful, full of promise for the new life he and Sam were now responsible for.


End file.
